A Price Was Paid
by Klumzi
Summary: My take on the discussion Aslan and Edmund have after his rescue from the White Witch.


A PRICE WAS PAID

He was aware of the morning glow around him, the pale pink blush of the sunrise. He was aware of the smell of spring blossoms—the first in this land for a hundred years—and the chirruping of the birds as they regaled the glory of a new day. And he was aware, acutely mindful, of the golden Presence he stood before, like sunlight personified.

He still felt cold.

Edmund lifted a hand, curling his stiff fingers covered in unhealthily white skin, half-expecting them to crack like bent icicles. His veins stood out prominently, dark blue among snow, and he shuddered, dropping the hand, licking his busted lip. He tasted iron.

Aslan watched him unwaveringly, amber eyes intent, his tail twitching lazily at his paws. He hadn't spoken since summoning the boy from his nightmare—Edmund flinched even now, recalling the ever-clear bite of a dagger to his throat—and Aslan remained silent until he dragged his gaze up and, swallowing a lump in his throat, looked back.

"Ah," Aslan finally said, "there you are." The edges of his eyes were taut, his smile tight, full of pain. "She lingers."

Edmund stuffed his hands in his pockets and bowed his head, hardly surprised that this majestic beast could sense the frigid grip on his heart, like shards of ice coiled like barbed wire, digging in with each beat. Yes, she lingered. She caught prey and feasted. She _infested._

The boy licked chapped lips again, renewing the metal tang across his tongue, and said feebly, "I'm sorry." For what else could he say? Before this Great Lion, whose own glorious soul reached across into the boy's eyes and dug deep into his human soul, and took notice of the mottled, blue-black marks across his being… What else was there to say, when laid miserably, pathetically on display, so wounded and torn?

Aslan bent lower, his downy-soft mane tickling Edmund's forehead, and his words were quiet and still. "I would heal you."

_Why?_ came the wretched voice from the shadows of the boy's bruised mind. _Why, after all I've done?_ The frozen hold on his heart squeezed down, causing his breath to come in ragged pants. _Why, after I nearly… nearly had my family killed?_ The grip tightened more and the boy groaned, collapsing to his hands and knees. His lungs were frosted over, feebly trying to draw in air, and his vision swam like a rippling pond. The brightness of spring was buckling under the darkness of winter.

The golden Presence came nearer, and his rumbling voice answered, "Because, my son, you are mine." A tongue drew scorching heat across his brow, and it throbbed there, an unbearable burning, forcing him to grit his teeth to hold in a scream.

_No!_ the voice in his mind shrieked, sobbing weakly. _How can I be? Not after… Agh!_ The burning became insistent, a pin-point of sun amid ice, and the ice was fighting to keep from melting.

"Mine," Aslan whispered, his voice now a soft breeze against the warring in the boy's mind. Ash and debris began to give way before the gentle force, revealing the crags and tears in the boy's soul.

_Can't be,_ the voice cried out, sodden with despair and jagged with grief. _I am too broken._ There was pressure building beneath the point of light, the spread of heat, and it was pushing, _pushing_ at his mind; his skull was going to crack, his heart was going to shred as the icy grip twitched and bit down convulsively—

_Son of Adam,_ said the faintest half-there voice of Aslan at the edges of his heart. There, he paced. _Will you not let me in?_

_ You…_ Edmund's hands shook where they dug into the earth, unfeeling, numb, his vision fading to a nothingness at the edges that was progressing—it terrified him—and deepening. But he reached through a crack in his mind, brushing against the spinning, golden source of heat that asked for entrance, and breathed out in bewilderment, _You still… want me?_ He was stunned.

Amazed.

Edmund reached out again, grabbing hold of the life-giving warmth in a desperate, clinging grip, one belonging to a drowning man, to a falling, wing-less creature.

And the cold deadness shattered and the heat poured in with a sudden, explosive flare, rushing in to his core, wild and powerful—

"_MINE!_" Aslan roared.

The voice in Edmund's soul screeched, flailing its grip on his being, shriveling away under the rush of life, of light, of… of…

_Love,_ Edmund thought with incredulity. His heart thumped pitifully before the brilliance of the realization. The boy gasped anew, feeling the terrible strain, that awful dead state, lift from him, and he blinked back tears so he could see. He could feel.

Sunlight danced across his skin and Edmund held up a hand to the sky; white beams shone between his fingers, and he moved them, feeling no pain. Drawing a deep breath, he raised his chin, finding the Lion's gaze.

Aslan growled low. "Stand before me, Edmund." Once the boy obeyed, he continued, "Few know that from before the Dawn of Time, there was a magic etched into the Scepter and Throne of the Emperor Across the Sea. It is a magic that is unknown to the witch, unknowable to any who cannot understand love and selflessness."

Aslan blinked, and his severe expression gave away to a soft smile. Glancing once over his shoulder, Edmund found that his siblings stood a distance off, their expressions worried and hopeful all at once. Waiting. He turned his attention back to the Great Lion as he said, "It is a law of sacrifice, Son of Adam. It is the law that governs this world and any other. It is the law that you may know joy because of sorrow, peace because of turmoil, love because of loneliness. It is a law that I fulfill, and as such, O man"—the Great Lion stretched out his head and breathed across the boy's brow; he smelled the cold crispness of dawn, the lazy shimmering of afternoon, and the tempered musk of twilight—"you are mine. You always will be. It is in forgiving yourself that you allow _me_ to be _yours_."


End file.
